Patience
by flyharel
Summary: Solas still draws Lavellan in his sketchbook to help pass the time on the battlefield. One of his new agents sees the drawing, and it prompts Solas to tell his war buddies about his girl.


Every war was different. Against the titans he fought with pride. Against the Evanuris he fought with cunning. In this final war he fought with patience.

His forces were far fewer in numbers than he'd led everyone to believe. The best tactic in such a circumstance was to draw the enemy out in small groups and stage an ambush.

It involved a lot of digging trenches and waiting in them, sometimes for days on end, for the moment to strike. Solas hated waiting - it gave him too much time to think.

It didn't seem to please his agents either. These were highly trained spies, accustomed to work that required scheming, secrecy, and fast-paced operations. Now they just stood around bored.

They had been waiting for two days for the enemy to pass through this field on the way to Minrathous, and he was beginning to miss the Inquisition camps which had been equipped with primitive showers. His armor had been more comfortable too.

Everyone was doing something to pass the time. The Black Hart was knitting her third pair of socks, no doubt to be forced upon him as a "gift". Cillian was feeding his rations to his pet chicken - a noisy creature, but it did wonders for morale. May were looking at keepsakes of their loved ones or writing letters to them.

His people. They deserved every sacrifice. They cowered in the trenches, too tired and too old, but denied the solace of eternal sleep. For him. Many were missing eyes or limbs from millennia of fighting, burns and old scars painting on their bodies his darkest mural, the chronicle of his greatest mistake. Some had awakened recently. They'd often pick up dirt and stare at it in disbelief, lacking understanding of this world just yet, shocked that their home had long ago been turned to ashes.

He owed it to them to never falter, to not allow himself a moment of doubt, and let them believe that what they were doing was right. Let the doubts and regret be his burden to carry after. Alone.

So he suppressed another sigh and took out his sketchbook. He pondered the choice of subject for a while and once again decided to practice the lines of her face. It was tempting to draw her naked form, perhaps seen from the back, but that would involve drawing her hands… Hand. He had been avoiding drawing hands for a while.

"Hahren, you draw? May I see?"

One of his lieutenants eyed the sketchbook, eyebrows raised.

"Of course," Solas replied gently. He showed a few drawings, flipping the pages to find his favorite portrait of her.

"This is my –" he paused, searching for the right word to describe what they had become. He wasn't sure if such a word existed.

"She's the love of my life," he finally said with a tired smile. "Though I fear one day she might be its undoing."

"That kind of woman, huh?" The agent grinned, then gave Solas a pat on the shoulder. "She looks fierce."

"She is." Solas chuckled. "It comes with some enjoyable side benefits."

Everyone in the trench laughed. They had all dropped what they were doing and were now listening in on the conversation. He realized he had rarely spoken of her; at least not like this.

"I have a girl too!" The agent rummaged in his robes and produced a miniature painting of an elven woman, bare-faced and smiling. Solas must have freed her from her masters long ago, though he did not remember her.

The agent went on about his lover, her name, where she was from, the things she liked, the funny things she said. He spoke as a man did in love, like he wanted to tell everyone everything about her. Solas had known that feeling once.

"- and when this war is over and the Veil falls," the agent went on excitedly, "I'll ask her to marry me. I want three children. No, four. At least one daughter. I can't wait to teach them all the old magic."

The speech ended in awkward silence. Half of those who knew looked away. The other half stared at Solas intently.

"How about you, hahren?" asked the agent, failing to notice the sudden change in mood. Solas quietly made a note to himself not to entrust this one with important tasks. "Are you planning to settle down with your girl one day?"

Solas managed a faint smile. "No. By the way," he added calmly, raising the portrait for everyone to see, "when we strike, keep an eye for her on the field. And if you notice her, do not by any means engage her. She is far too dangerous. Report the location to me immediately, and I will handle the matter myself."

Everyone nodded and hastily returned to their idle tasks. Everyone but the poor agent, who was now red from the tips of his toes to the tips of his ears.

"Ir abelas, hahren. I -"

"A misunderstanding. The fault is mine." Solas placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "You have a beautiful lover, da'len. Perhaps you could write her a letter?"

"Yes. Yes."

The agent all but ran as far away from Solas as possible.

They were all waiting for this to end, he thought. For most, it would mean a new life. For him, it would be confirmation of his greatest fear. He had to remind himself, they deserved every sacrifice.


End file.
